The Human's Guide to Understanding Autobots
by Vol
Summary: A series of oneshots from the early days of the Transformers on Earth, accompanied by excerpts from a book written by Carly and Spike. G1, all characters, inspiration from various sources.
1. Foreword: Together We Stand

Title: _The Human's Guide to Understanding Autobots_

Description: A series of oneshots from the early days of the Transformers on Earth, accompanied by excerpts from a book written by Carly and Spike. G1, all characters, inspiration from various sources.

Disclaimer: I do not own Transformers. Duh. But I would be quite irate if someone were to steal from _me_.

Author's notes: Official title page, table of contents and foreword of the book written (mostly) by Carly, Spike, and a couple others. Excerpts from all of these chapters will appear at some point, accompanying oneshots of various characters up and down the spectrum.

* * *

**The Human's Guide to Understanding Autobots  
**_Written by Carly Witwicky, Ph.D in Robotics and Engineering (MIT)__  
Co-Authored by Spike Witwicky and Autobots Ratchet and Wheeljack  
Foreword by Autobot Leader Optimus Prime_

FOREWORD: Together We Stand (Optimus Prime)  
Introduction: Autonomous Robotic Organisms (or AUTOBOTS)  
Chapter 1: Speaking Cybertronian: From My CPU to Yours  
Chapter 2: Alt-Modes: More than Meets the Eye  
Chapter 3: First Aid and General Maintenance  
Chapter 4: Programming and "The Spark"  
Chapter 5: Human-like Similarities and Tendencies  
Chapter 6: Human-Cybertronian Interaction  
Chapter 7: The Decepticon Question  
Chapter 8: A (very) Brief Overview of the Autobot-Decepticon War  
Chapter 9: Diplomatic Standing Between Earth and Cybertron  
Chapter 10: Mechanthropology: An Emerging Discipline  
ENDNOTE: Closing the Gap  


* * *

**FOREWORD: Together We Stand**

_Optimus Prime, Autobot Leader_

For countless eons, our kind has had little need of allies on other worlds and less need to call any of them _friend_. As our war raged on, decimating our own world and others, something happened to change that. That that great, unlikely something was Earth.

A world so small and rich, its people capable of kindness beyond measure, compassion beyond understanding, courage beyond belief. We could never have expected the bond we would forge, nor the changes that would come to pass because of it. For Cybertron ... and for Earth.

And now an even greater thing is coming to pass. You.

You who read these words, who have taken it on yourself to learn about us as we have struggled to learn about you, to understand our ways though they are not your own, and to embrace us though we are strangers. For that, we extend our hand to you in return. Because in understanding, we draw the remaining gap between us ever closer.

And on the day that gap closes we shall all stand together, Human and Autobot, as equals, as partners, and as friends.

I am Optimus Prime, leader of the Autobots, and I say: Thank you ... _friend_.  


* * *

_Note:_

_I know Carly is more of a science nerd than an engineering nerd. I figure maybe she got inspired to switch majors at some point. This is also for everyone who, like me, wondered what she ever actually _did_ with her MIT degree._

_Also, I would totally buy a book with a foreword by Optimus Prime. Holy crap, instant sell._


	2. Day in the Life Part 1

Title: _The Human's Guide to Understanding Autobots_

Description: A series of oneshots from the early days of the Transformers on Earth, accompanied by excerpts from a book written by Carly and Spike. G1, all characters, inspiration from various sources.

Disclaimer: I do not own Transformers. Duh. But I would be quite irate if someone were to steal from _me_.

Author's notes: Everyday occurrences that best describe the characters of various Autobots. Part one of many, since I could probably go on forever.

* * *

**Day in the Life ... (PART 1)**

_Cybertronians are a true juxtaposition: living organisms made of inorganic material. They can even heal themselves, to an extent. If the damage is too extensive, that's where the medic comes in._  
- From **The Human's Guide to Understanding Autobots**, Chapter 3: First Aid and General Maintenance

* * *

The rec room doors slid open, emitting a Ratchet who looked in sore need of recharge and some damn strong high-grade. The sudden palpable stillness in the room was not lost on the red-and-white mech, but he just couldn't be slagged to care at that moment.

"Ratchet," a black-helmeted mech slid a full cube of energon across the table, which Ratchet managed to snatch with some dignity. Jazz voiced the question that was clearly on more than one central processor. "What's th' verdict, docbot? How's everyone?"

"Recharging," Ratchet grunted. A quiet sigh of relief seemed to come from nowhere in particular and the atmosphere in the room relaxed at the medic's customary snippy tone.

"Even the Twins?" Hound asked from another table.

"They're bolted to their berths until I say otherwise," Ratchet's vocal processor growled around a mouthful of liquid energy. "And if I don't get some recharge myself in the next breem, that won't be for another lunar cycle."

A buzz of laughter, uneasy with fresh relief, filtered through all present. This was a familiar routine after a battle. Damage could always be repaired. No casualties was a reason to celebrate.

Jazz managed a chuckle, but it was strained. "... Prowl?"

Even Ratchet knew better than to be snide about that. "Recharging. Just brought him out of stasis. He should be back online soon."

The other 'bot relaxed visibly. "An' Carly?"

"Recharging," Ratchet hid a smirk behind his cube. "On Prowl's _chestplate_. She powered down with the welding torch still in her hand. Didn't have it in me to move her."

Jazz laughed, the rumbling full-body chuckle he was known for. "How'd she hold up in 'er first post-battle emergency room?"

"Not bad. Better'n most rookies would. That kid's got some spark." Ratchet grimaced. "My best pupil in four million years _would_ have the lifespan of a single vorn, slaggitall."

The other mech clapped him lightly on the shoulder. "Maybe Wheeljack could do somethin' 'bout that."

Ratchet gave a hefty snort into his energon and was about to tell Jazz exactly what Wheeljack could "do" about that when Teletraan's shipwide comm crackled to life.

_"This is Prowl paging Ratchet to the medbay." _The tactician's voice was as calm a monotone as ever, but did Ratchet detect a note of uncertainty?

The static-laden speaker went on. _"Prowl to Ratchet, I believe some of my systems did not fully reboot after recharge. I require some assistance." _Pause. _"I also seem to have a small ... problem."_

With the groan of a mech whose patience was stretched as thin as microcarbon filament, Ratchet abandoned the last of his energon and stomped out the rec room doors, ignoring the raucous laughter that followed him into the corridor.

* * *

_Many Cybertronians have auxiliary computers installed to perform various functions: increase sensory perception, aid in scientific computations, formulate battle strategies. These added features are not actually part of the "brain", which is able to function fine without them, but they can affect the thoughts and even the personality of the user and can pose a serious problem when not functioning properly._  
- From **The Human's Guide to Understanding Autobots**, Chapter 4: Programming and "The Spark"

* * *

"List the procedure when recovering an injured comrade."

"Assess the situation for danger, attempt contact with the injured, call for assistance ... ummm ..."

Prowl sighed and rubbed the side of his faceplate. "Damage report."

"Right!" Bluestreak slapped his helm. "I always forget that one. Call for assistance, damage report ..."

"You forgot emergency first-aid as well."

"Right! Emergency first-aid if there's no danger, then call for assistance, then damage rep..."

"Bluestreak."

"Yes sir?"

"How long have you been an Autobot soldier?"

"Ummm ... six, almost seven million Earth-years? But we were in stasis for four million years, so ..." The younger Datsun jumped when Prowl's hand slammed on the desk hard enough to knock over a stack of datapads. The tactical officer wasn't actually angry. It took more than his charge's incessant babbling to annoy him to the point of expressing violence, but he found the displays to be useful.

"Are your memory circuits malfunctioning? You should know this without having to think, Bluestreak."

The gunner looked utterly mollified, which had the unfortunate effect of making his superior officer feel the same for about a tenth of a second. "I know it. I've done it right hundreds of times, I remember perfectly if I'm in a situation. It's just hard to bring up just thinking about it, because no one's actually injured and my battle and emergency programs aren't kicking in, and ..."

"You shouldn't need them to," Prowl interrupted, standing. "What if you're damaged? What if the programming fails? We cannot simply rely on our upgrades and installed software. We must know right from the spark what to do in any situation, so we can still prevail even if nothing but our basic routines are functional."

Understanding dawned on the other Autobot. "Your battle computer?"

Prowl felt suddenly uncomfortably exposed, an unfamiliar and unpleasant experience. He shifted quickly to restack the datapads (in order, of course). "I was lucky young Mr. Chase was able to remotely take control of me. I've since made several reroutes of the programming and begun committing the raw data to my regular memory files. I would highly suggest you do the same. You may not have the same hardware, but your programming is similar enough that damage could be a severe liability."

Bluestreak was nodding slowly, optics wide. Prowl realized he had reordered the same stack of datapads twice over and quickly sat back down behind the desk.

"Repeat it again. Procedure when recovering an injured comrade."

"Assess the situation for danger, emergency first-aid if it's safe, attempt contact with the injured, call for assistance, damage report ..."

* * *

_Autobots who have been Earth-bound for prolonged periods often become deeply infatuated with human culture, especially those who were already enthusiastic about music or art from their own world. This behaviour can infect even the most unlikely candidates._  
- From **The Human's Guide to Understanding Autobots**, Chapter 6: Human-Cybertronian Interaction

* * *

"Whoo! Turn it up, Jazz, I love this song!"

"So does Prime!" Jazz's grin nearly reached his visor. "He can't get enough of it!" The music cranked up a few decibels. Carly grabbed Spike's hands and swung to the crescendo guitar riff.

_"You got the touch! You got the POWEEEERRRRR YEAH!"_

The metal floor vibrated with each stomp of heavy robot feet. Jazz and Blaster had apparently decided if the humans were going to dance, so were they. All of them laughed out loud at Blaster's impression of Stan Bush on the guitar, right down to flinging back imaginary hair.

Someone's vocalizer cleared very loudly, and both Blaster and Jazz stopped in mid-riff. From the door, Prowl made a slicing motion with one hand and the music was abruptly cut.

"May I remind the two of you," the second-in-command said quietly, "that we have regulations on noise-pollution in the base, _for a reason_?"

"Aww, don't be such a stick in the transistors, Prowl," Blaster cocked his head at the Datsun, still pretending he had rock-star hair to look through. "We could play your favourite, if ya like."

"I don't care _what_ you play, just do it _quietly_."

"Prowl has a favourite song?" Spike blurted. The image of the black and white robot grooving out in his office where no one could see put him dangerously close to an impromptu giggle-fit.

"Sure he does," Jazz said, at the same time Prowl said, "No, I do not."

Jazz's ever-present grin widened. "Hey Prowl, what was playing on yer radio when ya ran down Wildrider on Highway 80 las' week? _'Rock you like a hurricane'_?" Spike covered his mouth so his bark of laughter came out like a wheezing vacuum. Carly tittered.

Prowl looked from the humans to Jazz and then back to Blaster. "Keep the noise level below 62.7 decibels, _if_ you please," was all he said. He turned and left the room without a backward glance. Several meters down the hall the strains of electric guitar started up, much quieter this time.

_"It's early mornin', the sun comes up ..."_

Prowl's flicker of annoyance was quickly washed out with an unexpected sense of satisfaction. That mis-programmed glitch Wildrider thought a Datsun couldn't outrun a Ferrari on the open highway. That had been a glorious day in the line of duty, even if his radio had been malfunctioning.

Sparkplug was on his back scraping rust off the undercarriage of a beat-up Ford F60 when he thought he heard someone humming as they passed the shop. He rolled out from under the truck to take a look, but all he could see was Prowl, stylus and datapad in hand, on his way to some inspection or other. Shrugging, he went back to his task, the tune now stuck firmly in his head.

_"Here I am ... rock you like a hurrica-ane ..."

* * *

_

_The Autobots' official stand on choosing sides in any human conflict has been made very clear. They will stand to the last soldier to defend us from any outward threat, they will offer advice and sanctuary to any who need it, and they will help to repair any damage done in the aftermath, but they are not our caretakers. They will not step in to save us from ourselves._  
- From **The Human's Guide to Understanding Autobots**, Chapter 9: Diplomatic Standing Between Earth and Cybertron

* * *

"I'm sorry, Senator. That is my final answer."

The white-haired human on Teletraan's vid-screen looked mildly irate, which probably meant he was furious and keeping a lid on it. "I wish you'd reconsider, Mr. Prime. The United States government ... and its, er, people, too, would owe you a tremendous debt."

"As would we, to all who were harmed," Optimus responded.

The senator's false smile was sweet as aged energon. "You misunderstand, Mr. Prime. We would use your technology for peaceful purposes."

Ironhide was not nearly as adept at "keeping a lid on it" as his commander. "You call what's goin' on out there _peaceful_?" he snarled, shaking a fist at the screen. "Sounds ta me ya'll got th' same idea of _peaceful_ as th' Decept'cons!"

The senator's face went scarlet and his cheeks puffed like a frog. Prime gently restrained the security officer before addressing the vid-screen again. "I'm afraid Cybertronian law is very clear on this matter," he told the man.

The human set his lips in a thin line. "I'd hoped you would be more reasonable, especially since we've been so ... accommodating to you thus far. Perhaps with some more time, you'll see it our way."

"Perhaps," Prime agreed. One might mistake his tone for regret, but it was only distaste at the nature of the conversation. He ended the formalities and shut off the communication.

"Tha's three times this _year_, Prahm," Ironhide ground his dental plates. "How many times we got ta say 'up yers' before they git th' hint?"

"As many times as it takes," the Autobot leader replied evenly.

"I don' like it. Bad enough they go 'round blowin' each other ta bits, they need _our_ help now? They want us ta step in so bad, maybe we oughta! End this load a' ..."

"That's not our way, Ironhide."

"Ah know, Prahm, but still ..."

"My friend," Optimus Prime laid a hand the other mech's shoulder. "If someone stepped in to 'end' our war with the Decepticons, which side might they choose?"

Ironhide was silent, and Prime went on. "It isn't our place to make that decision for any other, in any way. Freedom is the right ..."

"Th' right o' all sentient bein's, ah know," Ironhide clasped his leader's forearm. "S'ppose that's why yer in charge an' not me."

Optimus' optics crinkled in a smile. "Among other things," he said wryly.

* * *

_A Cybertronian's personality is only partly a result of programming; for the most part it tends to develop over the course of their lives, much like ours do. This is reflected in their preferences, their attitudes and disposition, and the way they take to new experiences. Despite this, the most unlikely friendships can prevail._  
- From **The Human's Guide to Understanding Autobots**, Chapter 1: Speaking Cybertronian: From my CPU to Yours

* * *

Heavy pounding footsteps sent Carly scuttling to the side of the corridor, though she knew the Autobots could sense her at a distance and were far too careful to ever step on her. Even after a few weeks of working in the base, she was still a little skittish about thirty-foot robots when they weren't standing still. The fact that that the loudest impacts sounded deliberate and irritated did not help.

Voices followed the footsteps even before the two mechs rounded the corner. She didn't know one of them very well, but she remembered the army-green Jeep who was named Hound. The other was ... M-something. Mirror? Mir ...

"Mirage," Hound sounded like he was trying to be apologetic, but even from her vantage at knee-height Carly thought he was fighting hard not to laugh. "Come on, Mirage, it's not _that_ bad."

"I emphatically disagree," the blue and white mech said, biting off each word with impeccable clarity. "Maybe _you_ are built to withstand such ... such _degrading_ punishment, but I will have nothing more to do with it, thank you very much."

"It was just a bad run," Hound soothed. "You just need to get a feel for the terrain, that's all. Next time will ..." the Jeep stopped abruptly as Mirage whirled around a jammed a finger into his chest. As he did, Carly saw that his entire left side was dented and scratched so badly that silver metal showed beneath his white and blue paint job.

"_You_ may go _'feel'_ the terrain as much as _you_ like," he snarled, punctuating several words with a jab to Hound's chestplate. "Do tell me how much you enjoy being knocked off a _cliff_ and buried under a _pile_ of _boulders_ the next time you're out _'feeling'_ the _terrain!"_

With that jab of finality, Mirage spun on his heel and stalked off down the corridor, muttering about paint-jobs and rock formations and idiots who think climbing them is a good idea and even bigger idiots who let themselves get talked into thinking the same. Hound watched his friend stomp off to the washracks, oddly still looking very amused.

Carly ventured timidly away from the wall. "Is he alright?"

"Oh, he's _fine_," Hound waved a hand dismissively. "He's just being a ... what do you call it? A _crybaby_." The Jeep crossed his arms and somehow managed to roll his optics, though Carly wasn't quite sure how. "I've been buried under rocks more times than I can count, and it's not half as bad as he makes it sound."

* * *

"**The Touch"** is by Stan Bush and is the theme of the 1986 Transformers Animated Movie (seriously, who doesn't know this?)

"**Rock You like a Hurricane"** is by The Scorpions and was released in 1984 (coincidentally, the year the Transformers awoke from stasis on Earth _and_ the year the cartoon show debuted ... also the year the first TMNT comic book was printed, and the year I was conceived. Not that that has anything to do with anything.) I'm not sure why I tied it to Prowl, except that the image of him tearing down the highway after Wildrider, sirens flashing and blasting that song out ... yeah, that was pretty sweet.

**62.7 dB** is about the same as level of noise as a conversation across less than 3 feet (~60-70 dB).

The very last one, with Mirage and Hound, was inspired by a picture of **Shy-Light** on **Deviantart**. Go to her gallery and see if you can find which one. It's not hard. Trust me.


	3. Taking the Hint

Title: _The Human's Guide to Understanding Autobots_

Description: A series of oneshots from the early days of the Transformers on Earth, accompanied by excerpts from a book written by Carly and Spike. G1, all characters, inspiration from various sources.

Disclaimer: I do not own Transformers. Duh. But I would be quite irate if someone were to steal from _me_.

Author's notes: Vignettes surrounding a particular aspect of humanity. When the organic and the mechanical coincide, misunderstandings are bound to happen. Open mouth, insert foot. XD**  
Also, if anyone has ideas for a oneshot they'd like to see me write, send it along in a review or a note. I love inspiration!**

* * *

**Taking the Hint**

_Biological confusion aside, many of the Autobots can be suspiciously aware of the nuances of human interaction. They seem to know when something is "going on", and are often eager to know the details.  
_-- From **The Human's Guide to Understanding Autobots**, Chapter 6: Human-Cybertronian Interaction

* * *

Bumblebee poked her in the shoulder. "You were doing it again."

Carly blinked and rubbed her arm. "Doing what? What was I doing?"

"You were watching Spike walk away again. Why?" The little yellow mech's curiosity only grew when Carly's face began turning a deep shade of red.

"I ... uh ..." the girl stammered, mortified. From across the room Spike was trying and failing to hide a grin.

"He does it too," Bumblebee went on. "When _you_ walk away, I mean. I don't get it. Why do you have to watch each other leaving? Is that supposed to be polite?"

Now Spike's face turned red and he burst into wheezing laughter. Carly stifled a mortified groan and buried her head in her hands. Poor Bumblebee just looked more confused and wondered if he'd inadvertently "pulled a Bluestreak".

"Big guy," Spike finally managed, "this is one thing we'll tell you when you're older."

"But ... I'm older than both of _you."_

"In that case, ask Ratchet."

* * *

_Some Cybertronians, especially Earth-bound Autobots, are inordinately fascinated by human reproduction. This is a subject of deep curiosity and often much misunderstanding.  
_-- From **The Human's Guide to Understanding Autobots**, Chapter 6: Human-Cybertronian Interaction

* * *

"I didn't mean to offend you," Wheeljack said quickly, startled by the expression on his human friend's face.

"Ah ... naw, you didn't," Sparkplug shook his head and barked an uneasy laugh. "I just wasn't expecting it, that's all. What brought that up?"

"All the questions the Twins and Bluestreak have been bombarding Carly with lately," Wheeljack fiddled with his micro-soldering gun, then hastily set it down when he remembered in contained a highly unstable chemical component. "About human reproduction and males and females ... It just made me wonder, that's all. Really, it's not ..."

"I know, I know," Sparkplug waved a hand to show the engineer that it was alright. "It ain't a question I've never gotten before," he shrugged. "What can I say? It's always been just me and the boy. He's my son, I raised him. That's that."

"But there must have been ..."

"There was," the man interrupted. "At first. She's been gone a good long time."

Wheeljack was uncustomarily silent. "And ... this is normal?"

"Depends."

"On what?"

"On a lot of things," Sparkplug said tersely, going back to the engine he was dismantling. Wheeljack got the hint. The two worked in awkward silence for a while, before the man stood up again and laughed abruptly.

"You know, when he was seven," he swept a greasy hand over his face, leaving black smudges. "When he was seven, he asked about her. And I didn't know what the hell to tell 'im."

The inventor sensed he wasn't meant to be part of this conversation, and remained silent. Sparkplug went on. "I don't know where she is, what's she's doin', or if she's ever comin' back. And that," he shook his wrench at nothing in particular, "that _ain't_ normal."

Wheeljack turned that over in his processor a few times. "Well," he said finally. "I'm no expert mind you, but Spike is ... I believe the term is, 'a good kid'."

The older man's demeanour changed from anger to a slow but fierce pride. "Yeah," he said, squaring his shoulders. "Yeah, he is. Damn straight."

"Damn straight," the inventor echoed, and would have grinned had he been able.

* * *

The two Lamborghinis both looked down at her with identical expressions of _I don't believe you_. "Still don't get it," Sunstreaker grunted impatiently.

Carly rubbed her temples and groaned. Behind them Sparkplug was tinkering with an engine and pretending he wasn't hearing any of this. "Look, it's an organic thing, okay? It doesn't always make a whole lot of sense."

"But it doesn't make_ any _sense," Sideswipe emphasized. "They can't procreate. They can't even merge sparks. So what's the point?"

"_Love_." Carly bit the word of sarcastically. Then she blinked. "Love," she said more firmly. "It's for love, okay? Two humans who love each other will want to be together even if they're ... even if they can't make babies. Even if it doesn't make sense for them to love each other. There doesn't need to be another reason."

The Twins looked at each other, then back at her. Sunstreaker snorted. "Then why is it such a big fraggin' deal?"

Carly thought for a moment. "Because some people just don't get it," she said finally.

* * *

Bluestreak sat wedged into the rocks almost as far as he could fit, his car-door "wings" drooping miserably. The silver-grey Datsun had his face hidden in his metal hands and looked the very picture of mortification.

"I didn't know!" he wailed. "How was I supposed to know? It looks exactly the same! How'm I supposed to remember the difference, I can barely tell you all apart anyway! You people should ... you should wear _signs_ or something!"

Spike reached up and patted his arm in sympathy. "It was an honest mistake," he said soothingly. _And a hilarious one_. His father's face had gone so red he thought the stout older man was going to pop like a balloon. Poor Bluestreak had actually recoiled from the verbal backlash that followed.

The mech peeked from between his fingers, looking more pathetic than a thirty-foot robot had any right to be. "You think he's still mad? He's probably still mad."

"Probably," Spike shrugged, sitting down beside the dejected Datsun. "But he won't be for long. Don't worry about it, Blue. Now you know."

Bluestreak nodded. "Sparkplug is not a female," he intoned dutifully.

"And he is _definitely_ not pregnant."

* * *

_The social peculiarities of humans can be hard for a robotic life-form to grasp sometimes. They are communal to a point that is physically impossible for a human being. Some of them are in constant uplink with each other, even over vast distances. They have little concept of privacy, and little understanding of why anyone would want it.  
_-- From **The Human's Guide to Understanding Autobots**, Chapter 1: Speaking Cybertronian – From My CPU to Yours

* * *

"This is ... fun."

"You're lying."

"No, really, Carly. This is great. I love drive-in movies. And popcorn. I'm glad we did this."

"Are you sure? You seem ... uncomfortable."

"Why would I be uncomfortable?"

"I don't know."

"I'm not. I'm fine. This is fun. I'm having fun."

A voice piped up from the dashboard of the yellow Volkswagen. "I'm having fun too. We should do this more often."

* * *

Jazz's first thought was that Bumblebee had gotten in some kind of trouble. But "trouble" and "Bumblebee" didn't really fit in the same class of subjects. Not that the minibot was a mini-Prowl or anything, but 'Bee was far more likely to own up to any misdeed than to be sneaking around outside doorways.

As he and Bluestreak approached the yellow minibot, Jazz opened his mouth to ask what was going on and was surprised when 'Bee made frantic shushing motions, indicating inside the shop that housed some of Sparkplug's personal projects, including the half-refurbished Ford F60 military truck that Spike and Carly were currently sitting on.

Jazz opened up a three-way comm link with the other 'bots. _::What's goin' on?::_

'Bee was attempting to peer around the edge of the door without being noticed by the two humans. _::I think they're gonna do it,::_ he said excitedly.

_::Do ... ::_ Jazz's systems did a little bit of a loop. _:: ... "it"?::_

"Do what?" Bluestreak asked, puzzled.

_::Shhh!::_ both the others hissed over the comm. Blue winced. _::Do what?::_ he repeated, mollified.

_::Ya know,::_ Jazz sent, wiggling his optic ridges. _::__**IT.**__::_

All three turned their optics to peek around the doorframe. The humans were sitting very close together, arms around each other. It did indeed appear that "it" was imminent.

Jazz's sensitive audios picked up footsteps and voices, too far away to be noticed by anyone else yet, and quickly sent a comm to the approaching mechs. _::Hound, Beachcomber, get over here an' keep it down!::_

The noise disappeared, and a few seconds later the Jeep and the blue dune-buggy stealthily joined their fellows.

_::What's goin' down, m'man?::_ Beachcomber sent across the link.

_ ::They're gonna do it!::_

_ ::"It"? Really?::_

_ ::Move over, lemme see!::_

It could not be said after that a bunch of giant metal robots fighting for space at a doorframe could not do it silently. After much muted scuffling and some mild cursing over the comm, all five had found a satisfactory vantage, even if poor 'Bee was now lying flat on the floor with Hound's elbow in the small of his back.

_ ::Did we miss it?::_

_ ::I don' think so. They ain't moved at all.::_

_ ::How long does it take?::_

_ ::I dunno. Not long, I guess. I only ever saw it on TV.::_

_ ::Shh-shhh! Shut up, you guys!::_

All attention was riveted to the scene before them. Spike pulled Carly closer, dropped his head to hers, and a moment later a barely-audible sigh went through their as-of-yet-unnoticed audience.

_ ::That ...::_

_ ::Yeah.::_

_ ::Finally!::_

_ ::I _know!_::_

_ ::Is that it? Is there more?::_

_ ::Don' think so. That's it.::_

_ ::That was ... that was beautiful, man."_

_ :: ... ::_

_ Ka-THUNK!_

All five of them, especially Jazz, jumped at the startlingly loud noise above them. Both Spike and Carly whipped around to stare at the door where a sixth, far more direct presence stood behind their discreet observers.

"_What,_" Ratchet asked incredulously, his wrench still poised over Jazz's helm, "in the_ Pit_ are you _doing?_"

* * *

_As was explained in the previous chapter, Cybertronians don't have a biological sex difference, but for some reason they do seem to have a gender distinction that roughly equate to "male" and "female" (aptly termed "mech" and "femme" by early mechanthopological studies). This is confusing and probably not wise to think about for very long.  
_-- From the **The Human's Guide to Understanding Autobots**, Chapter 5: Human-like similarities and tendencies

* * *

"'Bee...?"

"Yeah?"

"Arcee's a girl, isn't she?"

"... I don't understand."

"She looks female. She _sounds_ female. But ... that doesn't make sense. She's a robot."

"I still don't follow."

"... you know what? Never mind. Let's get some ice-cream."

* * *

_Cybertronians don't choose "mates" per se, but there is a particular kind of bonding that is familiar and extremely personal. A__lthough it can be a source of great amusement to some, i__t is the only relationship that is given any measure of discretion or sensitivity by others.  
_-- From **The Human's Guide to Understanding Autobots**, Chapter 5: Human-like Similarities and Tendencies

* * *

A spray of energon hit the bulkhead, dripping toxic-looking pink tendrils to the floor, and Carly was treated to the incredible sight of a thirty-foot robot in a coughing fit.

"Wh – what?" Bluestreak's optics were open as wide as they could dilate, and it seemed the combination of shock and regurgitation was enough to stem his normal breathless tirade. Prowl used his data pad to flick a few pink splatters from his sleek black-and-white armour. From the other side of the table, Sideswipe and Sunstreaker were dangerously close to cracking up.

Carly looked at each of them in turn, wondering whether to be embarrassed or not. "All I asked is what it meant to 'merge sparks'."

Sideswipe let out a high-pitched giggle. "Ask Prowl," he snickered. Sunstreaker guffawed.

Prowl took in Carly's expectant look and cleared his vocalizer. "'Merging sparks' is a less than accurate slang term for a spark-bond," he said, his usual monotone unfazed. "It refers to when two sparks' energies find a particular resonance with one another, despite the ... unlikelihood of the mechs involved."

The human blinked. "What does _that_ mean?"

Sunstreaker couldn't hold it in. "Ask Jazz," he wheezed. Sideswipe cracked up.

* * *

The picture of a slender, pink Autobot held up by two Decepticons flickered frozen on the screen. Ironhide and the others seemed to be completely stunned by the image.

"Elita-One ..." Inferno whistled. "Alive?"

"Does that mean ... the others ...?"

Spike and his father stood far enough back to be out of foot-shuffling range and close enough to see Teletraan's screen. The boy shuffled closer to Bumblebee, who was near enough to his height to talk quietly to. "Who's Elita-One?" he asked.

'Bee hesitated for a moment. "She's ... well, I guess you could say she's Prime's girlfriend."

Both humans did a visible double-take. The idea of "female" Autobots was new enough, but _girlfriends_? _Robot_ girlfriends?

"You know what a spark-bond is, right?" 'Bee asked. "Well, Elita-One and Optimus are bonded. They have been since ... well, forever. Only we all thought Elita and the other femmes were dead before we left Cybertron." The minibot paused thoughtfully. "Explains why he took off all of a sudden."

"Wouldn't Prime have known for sure?"

Bumblebee shrugged. "I don't know. I've never had a bond with anyone. I guess maybe we're too far away?"

Spike looked at the screen again, and at Ironhide, who still hadn't said a word. Now that he really thought about it, the big red Autobot looked like he was ... thinking? No, _searching_ for something, like a memory buried deep. He seemed to be getting more and more quietly agitated, a very un-Ironhide-like behaviour.

"Inferno," he said abruptly. "Powerglide. Transform an' git yer gears on. We're goin' after Prahm."

The mech's next words were so quiet the sound of metal and robotic parts folding in on themselves nearly drowned them out, but the humans were close enough to hear what he said. "Don' you worry, Chromia. I'm comin', darlin'. We're comin' fer all'a ya."

* * *

**Notes**:  
I know that's not how it goes in "The Search for Alpha Trion". Artistic license, dammit.

Also, I am _such_ a _**girl**_**.**


	4. The Little Things

Title: _The Human's Guide to Understanding Autobots_

Description: A series of oneshots from the early days of the Transformers on Earth, accompanied by excerpts from a book written by Carly and Spike. G1, all characters, inspiration from various sources.

Disclaimer: I do not own Transformers. Duh. But I would be quite irate if someone were to steal from _me_.

Author's notes: Who's up for some _d'aaaawwwww? ... _I'll have you know, when I was writing Sideswipe and Sunstreaker for this, I was bawling snot all over the keyboard.

The Silverbolt oneshot was requested by **Mozenwrathluvr. **Thanks for your review and I hope you like it!

**Also, if you have an idea you want to see me write, drop a note or a review!

* * *

**

**The Little Things**

_It is tempting for us to look at the conflict between Autobots and Decepticons as fundamentally between good and evil. While it does seem to be quite black and white from every angle, if one looks close enough there are still a few shades of grey._  
-- From **The Human's Guide to Understanding Autobots**, Chapter 7: The Decepticon Question

* * *

Skyfire was alone again.

Nearly every time Sparkplug saw the giant mech he was by himself. Which was hardly a surprise, considering he was too big to fit in most parts of the base. Even Ironhide, the tallest next to Prime, barely came up to the shuttle's elbow joint. They'd had to hollow out special "quarters" into the side of the mountain, as none of the current ones would accommodate him. As a result Skyfire spent most of his time outside, seemingly staring off into nothing, but Sparkplug had a feeling the big guy was taking in everything he could and filing it away into that scientist's mind of his.

The older man made his way from the base to the enormous silhouette, well aware that he stood no higher than the shuttle's ankle. "Nice sunset," he commented, perhaps a little louder than was necessary.

"It is," Skyfire agreed, as if he'd been aware of the other's presence all along. They stood together in the particular silence that two old souls make.

"You know," Sparkplug said finally, "I never thanked you for your help back in the arctic."

Skyfire's optics glowed a little dimmer. "And I never apologized for handing you over to Megatron."

The man waved his gloved hand in dismissal. "Ah, you didn't know any better. Fuel through the pumps, an' all that." He cleared his throat. "But listen, I been through the ringer a few times myself. You ever want to talk at all, or just sit and think old thoughts, I'm game. That okay?"

The shuttle didn't make a sound for several long minutes, and Sparkplug wondered if that was all the answer he'd get. Then Skyfire turned his optics down to look at him and actually smiled.

"That would be nice," he said.

* * *

_What is most important to understand is the difference between an Autobot and a mere "machine". The most advanced robot made by human hands or the highest scoring computer on the Turing test is still not a living being. It is the little things, more than anything, that make you realize how much more they are like us than like machines._  
-- From **The Human's Guide to Understanding Autobots**, Introduction: Autonomous Robotic Organisms (or AUTOBOTS)

* * *

"What's up, Blue?"

Carly expected to be met with a barrage of all the details that were currently "up" with the grey Datsun, and was a little alarmed when Bluestreak only twitched a sensory panel in response. The young Autobot stood transfixed before one of the many vid-monitors Teletraan 1 used to display the information from its databanks, which was currently cycling through a series of images faster than she could follow. Blue's optics flickered like a strobe light, a sign he was in deep concentration.

"Bluestreak?" she approached the Datsun cautiously. "Is everything okay?"

"Hi Carly," the mech's voice sounded far-off and distracted. Belatedly she noticed the cable uplink running from Blue's arm to the computer console. "Everything's fine, just fine, I'm just looking up some stuff on Teletraan's databanks. How are you?"

The girl ignored the question. "Is that Cybertron?" she asked with interest, craning her neck to peer up at the wall-sized monitor. All she could discern were the shapes of spiralling towers and vast cityscapes as the images sped by. _Is the entire planet made of metal?_

Without taking his optics off the screen, Bluestreak reached down and lifted her up to sit in his armchair-sized hand. "Yeah, this is data from before the war. I like to synch my memory drive with the databanks now and then and make sure nothing's been corrupted or anything, because that would be pretty bad, huh? I'd have to go see Ratchet, and that wouldn't any be fun at all."

"No, it wouldn't," Carly agreed, intent on the rapidly-changing screen. "Wait, go back!" She pointed quickly, and the screen flickered back to an image of colossal crystal structures interlocking with breathtaking beauty. From the scale of the mechs standing around them, the largest must have been hundreds of stories high.

"They're beautiful!" she breathed, stretching her hand out as if to somehow bring the screen closer. "What are they?"

"Those're the Helix Gardens," Bluestreak said proudly. "They were in Praxus, that's my home city-state where I lived before the war, but I never spent that much time at the Gardens and now I kinda wish I'd gone a lot more. They were pretty amazing, there really wasn't anything else like them on all of Cybertron, and they were a really nice place to just sit and think quietly for a while, y'know?"

Carly smiled at the thought of the grey Datsun doing anything quietly. "I would love to go there someday," she said wistfully, gazing at the image.

"Oh, you can't," Bluestreak shook his head. "They were destroyed by the Decepticons. All of Praxus was destroyed by the 'Cons, everything in it and everyone else too, all except me."

A cold fist gripped her heart as the string of words sunk in. There was a very noticeable pause before Bluestreak rolled on in his customary breathless way. "That was a really, _really_ long time ago. I miss Praxus a lot sometimes, actually I miss all of Cybertron a lot too, the way it used to be, so I like to synch up my memory once in a while, to make sure I don't forget about anything. I don't want to forget. Anything."

His vocalizer glitched briefly and the spiel ended with a garble of static. The soft whine of his systems rebooting reminded her wrenchingly of a human on the verge of tears.

Carly wrapped her small hands around the Datsun's metal thumb, the only part of him within easy reach, and waited until he'd regained his composure. "Do you think you can go through them a little slower?" she asked softly. "I'd ... like to remember, too."

* * *

"Just this once."

"No."

"Come _on_, man," Jazz pleaded. "Don't be a stiff."

"We had an agreement."

"Prowl ..."

"The agreement is final, Jazz."

"Prowler ..."

"You turn was yesterday," Prowl stated in an infuriatingly neutral and unwavering tone. The tactician held out his hand expectantly. "Tonight is mine. Tomorrow is Wheeljack's. Your next turn is in another seventeen days."

"We could swap?"

"No."

"Rock, paper, scissors?"

"No."

"Flip a coin?"

"_No_, Jazz."

Jazz actually pouted, a thing Prowl had never seen any other mech resort to. "But I _hate_ this."

"And I despise that drivel you insist is worthwhile, but I allowed you to have your turn without complaint," Prowl pointed out. "I expect the same consideration from you."

"And then," Gears piped up from across the rec room, "maybe you _ladies_ could go paint yer damn fingernails and _shut the slag up_."

Prowl chose to ignore that comment and deftly plucked the remote control from Jazz's hand. "Tonight is _my_ turn," he said, flicking on the wall-sized television, "and we are watching _Matlock_."

Jazz groaned. There was something akin to a mass exodus of the rec room, until only Prowl, Jazz and surprisingly _Gears_ were left. Both the saboteur and the second-in-command turned to stare at the red and blue minibot, wondering if he had actually switched off his audios. Gears only glared back at them.

"What?" he fumed over his half-raised energon cube. "I _like_ Matlock!"

* * *

Convincing Tracks to spend the day at the park where people could admire his sleek alt mode was no challenge at all; putting up with the vain peacock of a Corvette was a different story. They couldn't sit directly in the sun, oh no, that would heat up his interior too much, and the shade was no good either, it would mute his spectacular paint job, and oh _Primus_, not _there_, that storefront was completely the wrong colour! Raoul had been seriously considering clipping the wires to his friend's main computer before Tracks finally settled on an acceptable spot ... and then they moved three times to avoid cloud cover, a nest of bees and some kids playing frisbee too close for comfort.

But when it came down to it, it was all worth being able to loaf around near Central Park, where everyone could see, on a shiny blue Corvette Stingray with custom decals. Even if said Corvette had a big mouth and a snarky temper.

"Not that I'm complaining, Raoul, but exactly how long are you going to stand there?"

The boy in the black studded leather jacket only leaned back against the side of the blue Corvette, and he did it just to be obtuse. "Hey man, I didn't complain when you drove us around that outdoor car show for six hours, now did I?"

"Well that was different," Tracks snipped, arrogance practically dripping from his exhaust pipe. "I was hardly showing _you_ off."

"I can't make it look convincing if I'm leanin' up against a parking meter, can I?"

"Well, you're blocking me from view," Tracks grumped. "And those ... things on your jacket are going to ruin my finish. What exactly do you expect to find here anyway?"

"I'm not looking to _find_ nothin', man. I'm just lookin'." Raoul waved an arm out around them. "Takin' in the scenery, you know?" At the Corvette's questioning silence, he emphasized, "_Girls_, man. Sheesh, how long you been on this planet, now? Girls love a guy with a slick car, and no offense Tracks, but Raoul needs him some different company once in a while."

Something that sounded suspiciously like a derisive snort came from the under the car's hood. "Oh _please. _The only thing you're going to get here is a backache from standing like that, and a slow walk home once I get tired of you blocking my light. Is this how you treat all your friends?"

"Don't be like that, Tracks. Bros are supposed to help each other out with this stuff."

"I suppose I shouldn't complain. It's not like you're _stealing_ my spotlight."

"Hey man," Raoul said warningly.

"What's the matter, Raoul?" Tracks purred. "Feeling a little _jacked_, are we? Maybe you need a bit of a _boost_?"

"I thought we were over this, man."

"Oh, don't be such a --"

The Corvette gave a little cough and abruptly fell silent, a sure sign that someone was getting too close. Raoul straightened to look around, knowing Tracks' scanners could have picked up the intruder from any direction.

"This your car?"

Raoul jumped at the smooth silky voice and whipped around, coming face-to-face with the girl standing on the other side of the Corvette. She smiled at him and lightly caressed Track's hood, and his vocal capabilities eloped with his dignity and flew away into the sunlight.

"Uh," he said.

She wasn't the sort of girl he'd notice on the street. She was actually kind of plain: no jewelry or makeup, dark hair hanging loose, thrift-store ensemble. But the way she moved, slow and confident, drinking in the touch of the warm metal under her fingers ... it just radiated attraction.

"I like it," she said, walking slowly around the blue hood with its blazing Autobot logo. The sleeve of her jacket pulled up a little as she trailed her fingers across the blue finish, showing a slender tanned wrist and white, unpainted fingernails. "Though the decals are ... unoriginal. Everyone's getting the Autobot thing done these days."

Tracks' speakers emitted a noise not unlike an indignant squawk, which Raoul covered up by simultaneously coughing and smacking the Corvette's sidepanel with his knee. "Yeah, uh ..." he managed. "Well, he – we ... _I_ had it before anyone else." He coughed again.

"Hmm, I'm sure," she purred a little, fingers gliding over the rearview mirror as her walk brought her right around to the driver's side door. She leaned her hip against it, her arm snaking over Tracks' roof and, Raoul was distinctly aware, behind his own shoulder. "Well _he_ ..." she smirked, "is beautiful."

His voice returned to him then, bringing back a little boldness along with it. "You're not so bad yourself," he said, turning sideways so he was facing her. Tracks stifled a groan, which earned him a kick to the undercarriage. "You, ah, you got a name, pretty lady?"

Her hand slid between his waist and the car, and some part of his brain died and went to a happy place. "Maybe," she said, sidling closer until her lips were a breath from his ear, "if you got a phone number, hot-shot."

There was a moment of epic fumbling before a pen and a suitable scrap of paper was located. He never even questioned the sheer abnormality of giving a girl _his_ number instead of the other way around. She wanted it, and it was hers.

"You, uh ... want a ride?" he asked her, not bothering to consider what "the ride" might have to say about that.

"Mmm ... maybe later," slender fingers plucked the paper from his hand, and to his utter glee she gave his backside a little squeeze before uncoiling herself. She tucked his number into the front of her shirt and winked at him. "See you around, hot-shot."

Raoul watched her walk away with fixed devotion, before slumping back against the Corvette's door. He wiped a hand over his face. "_She_," he emphasized, "was _hot_."

"_She_," Tracks didn't bother to hide his smug amusement, "just stole your _wallet_, chum."

"What?!" his hands flew to his back pockets. "Son of a ... Hey! _HEY!_"

Raoul took off down the sidewalk, leaving a delighted Tracks now completely unobstructed from view to the street. "Looks like you just got _yanked_, pal," the Corvette called gleefully after him.

* * *

Silverbolt's afterburners were already trailing thick black smoke. Carly caught sight of it as the Aerialbot looped back, trying to shake his pursuer, and she knew it hadn't come from Starscream. On the flight deck, a light flashed on the pilot's console. "Brace yourselves," the Concorde told her and Spike. "He's coming back around."

"I'm gonna be be sick," Spike moaned from the seat beside her.

Carly had a few choice things to say about that, but barely had time to grab hold of her seat before Silverbolt did a barrel roll to avoid the Seeker's next blast. The bolts of Starscream's null ray lit the inside of the flight deck in a washed-out red. Quickly Carly glanced back to the unconscious Sparkplug and was relieved to see him still firmly strapped into the seat behind them.

"Silverbolt," she said tersely. "You have to get higher."

"I ... I can't ..."

Red blasts lit up overhead again. This was no time for the Aerialbot's acrophobia to kick in. "He's trying to run you into the ground! You have to get above him!"

"It's too high!" the Concorde sounded like he was pleading. "I'm ... I'm too damaged! I'll crash!"

"Silverbolt ..."

Spike, who had his head between his knees, looked up, his face dangerously green. "'Bolt, you're a plane! Planes fly! As in, _high up in the sky!_" Carly could have smacked him, but keeping herself in her own seat was trouble enough.

"You want to get out and try for yourself?!" Silverbolt screeched.

Some calm part of her brain knew that things were not good if the mild-mannered Aerialbot was resorting to snapping at his passengers. There was a nasty jolt as the plane's undercarriage briefly scraped along a rocky outcrop. They were getting boxed into the canyon and flying way too low, with a trigger-happy Decepticon above them and some very hard and unyielding ground below, and Carly did the only thing she could think of.

"I'm afraid of bugs!" she blurted.

The bicker-fight between the plane and the other human stopped abruptly, replaced by stunned silence.

"What?" the console flashed. Wind funnelling through the canyon buffeted the jet, making the cockpit shake and bounce erratically. Spike made a pathetic little noise and doubled over, clutching his hardhat.

"Bugs!" she said, bracing her hands on the flight console. "Tiny bugs! Little, tiny, crawly bugs. I can't stand them! I'm terrified of them. I'd rather face Megatron on a bad day than have a spider crawl on me."

"That ... that doesn't make sense."

"I know!" she almost giggled. "It makes no sense at all! I'm just afraid of them and that's that. And I know you're afraid too, Silverbolt, but you have to let go of it. The ground is not safe right now, the sky _is_. You can can outfly that overgrown excuse for a biplane, I know you can!"

The canyon bottom was becoming dangerously friendly, and just when she thought they would meet for the last time, it abruptly vanished from sight. Carly's back pressed hard into her seat as Silverbolt's nose pulled up ninety degrees and blasted into the sky with all the power the Concorde could muster. The rumble of his engines nearly drowned out what might have been a scream of fury as a brief flash of red and blue went hurtling out of the way.

The pressure eased as the jet straightened in the air. The radar screen before her showed Starscream giving chase, but the blip fell steadily behind until it was out of range completely. She let out a breath she didn't think she'd been holding.

"You guys okay?" Silverbolt asked finally. With the danger averted, the Aerialbot was already dropping down to a more comfortable altitude. Fear was still fear, after all.

"Yeah. You?"

"Good, I'm good. I think."

"I'm fine too, thanks," Spike said shakily, his face buried in his hardhat. Sparkplug, strapped into the seat behind him, was still blissfully unaware of everything.

"So ..." the light on the console flashed hesitantly. "Bugs? Really?"

Carly managed a laugh. "Oh yeah."

"... Thanks, Carly."

"No problem, 'Bolt," she patted the console. Adrenaline was fading now, leaving behind the feeling of having been through a washing machine on spin cycle. "Just ... don't tell anyone. It's embarrassing."

Spike snorted into the hardhat. "_You're_ embarrassed? As soon as we get back to base," he told the jet, "we're equipping you with some parachutes and some goddamn airsick bags."

* * *

Explosions rang in his audios, loud enough to fritz the delicate circuitry. That was really the only thing telling him the battle was still going on, and that surprisingly he was still online. His optics were blocked by heavy collapsed metal metal struts and fallen sheeting at the bottom of the shaft. Even his equilibrium sensors were offline, and the world of vibrations seemed to be coming from every direction at once.

Hot energon mixed with fuel and coolant dripping down his arm told him which direction was in fact _down._ He was going to go into stasis soon, he knew it. There was a large distinct mass _inside_ his abdomen that he was pretty sure didn't belong there and was equally sure he didn't want to think about.

_(Sunny.)_

The pulse of his brother's name across their bond went unanswered. Was Sunstreaker still above him? Was he just not responding? Or was Sideswipe even sending? He wasn't sure anymore, everything felt like it was getting further and further away.

_(Sunny? Sunstreaker!)_

_ ..._

_ (Bro?)_

_ ..._

_(Help me?)_

Suddenly all concern for damage vanished from his processor. Flailing against his lack of coordination he tried to push aside the debris covering him, push it away to get up there, up to the surface, to Sunny, who couldn't hear him and might need him, but something was pinning him right through the chest and he couldn't seem move it away and suddenly all the world was made of crackling sparks and electricity and a constant stream of data and error messages and damage reports and through it all his spark pulsed like a beacon _(sunnysunnysunnySUNNYSUNNY!SUNNY!SUNNY!—)_

_ (I'm here.) A single pulse, strong and nearby. That's all it was, and all he needed, just a "hey, I'm here."_

_ (Here,) he sent back._

_ (Hold on.)_

_ Crumpled metal was lifted away from his face, and a sky full of stars and broken spires greeted him. It was beautiful, still and peaceful, except for Sunstreaker's own face glaring down at him where he lay in a heap at the bottom of the debris._

_ "You slaghead," his brother growled. "I ought to just leave you here."_

_ Sideswipe grinned up at his twin. "But you won't, will you?"_

_ Sunstreaker made a noise deep in his vocalizer and reached down a yellow hand to the red twin. "No, I won't."_

"That's it! I got him, he's back online!"

The world came crashing back with the smell of burning fuel and cold concrete and _pain_, (oh Primus, so much _pain_ ...) and all the quiet and cool dark stillness were gone and his audios were buzzing with noise from every direction at once. His visual sensors came online to meet not empty sky, but Ratchet's tightly focused optics. The medic didn't spare him so much as a glance. Multifunctional electronic tools in place of his red hands were buried deep in the hole in Sideswipe's midsection, a thing the Lamborghini thankfully couldn't see very well.

(_Sunny? Sunstreaker?)_ His processor was still tumbling with fragmented memory files, names and faces and a sky full of stars and broken towers. Where was Sunstreaker? Where was his brother? He'd been right there, he was sure of it ...the world spun dizzily and frantically he tried to sit up, but a heavy hand clamped down on his chest.

"Here." _(I'm here.)_

"S...Sunny?" he rasped. He turned his head, optics dilating in and out until his brother's glaring face came into focus. _(Bro?)_

"Slaghead," Sunstreaker growled. "I ought to have just left you there."

The words pulled at something in his processor, circuits dancing over partial and fading memories. Fear gripped him and he reached out a twitching hand, grasping for his brother. "But you didn't, did you?"

A yellow hand gripped his arm tightly, pressing against cracked red plating. "No," his brother's vocalizer grated hoarsely. "I didn't. And I never will."

* * *

**End "The Little Things, part 1"**

I have determined several things writing these sections: One is that I love writing Tracks and Raoul, so expect to see a lot more of them. Everyone go watch the episode "Make Tracks" to get the car-stealing jokes.

Another is that bromance is the _shit_, man.

A third: if you send me a one-shot request, **I will probably write it.**Because that Silverbolt one? Hilarious fun. I went and looked up all the Aerialbots and their flight modes, and found some nifty pics on Wikipedia of the inside of a Concorde's flight deck. So come on people ... challenge me.

That's all, folks.


End file.
